


21:47

by strangeera



Series: You're alright [3]
Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:38:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6222148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeera/pseuds/strangeera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We're queuing at the food court in Cineworld – he's staring at his phone, trying to get good seats since you have to book them now, it's s***, and I'm staring at the Pizza Hut across the road wistfully, thinking about outside in the car park a few minutes ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	21:47

**Author's Note:**

> Three of six. Pretty much exclusively listened to Love on The Brain by Rihanna while writing this, lol. Let me know what ya think.

We're queuing at the food court in Cineworld – he's staring at his phone, trying to get good seats since you have to book them now, it's shit, and I'm staring at the Pizza Hut across the road wistfully, thinking about outside in the car park a few minutes ago. I was still staring at the Pizza Hut across the road cuz you know, pizza, and it was sort of raining but not really, and hovering above us in the dark, the scrolling digital board said Star Wars: The Force Awakens and then 12A and then 20:50 in massive, red letters that somehow made me feel nervous. I was working out the time (8:50) and he turned to me as he closed the car door and said: “you know, I really fancy some of those gummy snakes,” and was that supposed to be cute, I was asking myself, what do I care, and I grimaced, shrugged, and said: “oh yeah?” though I wasn't that interested either way, and quieter, slightly dejected he said: “yeah, anyway, I'm paying so get whatever you want, go crazy,” and I was feeling a little bit bad about being an arsehole, as always, but despite myself, I said: “no you're not,” but I regretted it straight away, told myself to chill out, and he didn't say anything else. 

 

Inside, he says: “there's only shit seats left, right at the front, I'm gonna break my neck,” shaking his head, and I'm just staring at him, suppressing a smile, thinking about how rare going to the pictures was when I was little, how I always dragged whoever I was with right to the front, ecstatic that the front seats were free, thinking about how mad people were to be sitting right at the back, so far away from the screen, what were they thinking? My face is burning a little bit but he doesn't notice, and I'm not embarrassed, I just, I dunno, thinking about stuff like that makes me feel, I dunno, anyway.

 

“The “shit” seats are fine,” I say casually, too casually, manually scratching the back of my head and looking away when he looks over at me, perplexed, staring at the Ben and Jerry's counter in the corner – tons of people, ice cream, obviously, and the difference between us is suddenly making me uncomfortable and self-concious. The shit seats I always went for, the gummy snakes I hated because they made my mouth hurt – even our fucking outfits couldn't be further separated (he's wearing an expensive but ugly, in my opinion, green jacket; I'm wearing a black hoodie I got three for two at Burton) and it all feels way too much, finger the vaporiser in my pocket, think about Pizza Hut and try to breathe. 

 

I look over and he's staring at me, horrified, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape, and he says: “for real? You want to sit at the front? Why don't we just wait for the next one, get a drink upstairs?” and what? no way, and I'm rolling my eyes, feeling really annoyed, kind of pissed off, biting my bottom lip, and I say: “for real,” in a stupid American accent, I don't know why I did that, and then, exhaling, shaking my head: “not everything has to be a “bespoke” experience, Robert. Book the seats, I'm going to the toilet.”

 

“Alright,” he says quietly, staring at the floor briefly, really making me feel like shit, my stomach is in knots. “Listen, I'll pay for these,” he says, holding up a hand when I start to object because didn't I already tell him he couldn't buy me back with some fucking nachos and a Diet Coke with a Star Wars character on the lid? “Relax, I'll get these and you can get the sweets, and then we're even, deal?” We're never going to be even, I'm telling myself, still biting hard into my bottom lip, and I can't help it, the ugly thing inside my stomach is lurching and chill out, I'm telling myself, and heaving, I say: “okay, I'll be back in a sec,” and he says with a sort of wink but not really: “don't be too long, ey?” and breathless, wheezing, I say: “I'll try not to get lost,” and just chill out, I'm telling myself, over and over. 

 

I'm trying, I remind myself. 

 

-

 

I stay in the toilet for eight minutes, looking at pictures of trainers on my phone, trying to stay level headed but that was never my strong suit and you have to try to make this work, I'm telling myself, otherwise? Fuck it.

 

-

 

He's sitting beside me in the shit seats in screen fourteen, already wearing the 3D glasses, though the movie hasn't started yet, and I'm feeling like I've been conned – popcorn, snakes and some other stuff, ice cream and a giant, looming Diet Coke in a cup that says Star Wars on it separating us. He's talking excitedly about Star Wars, massive geek that he is, and I'm kind of zoning out, focusing hard on his lips as he talks, feeling, I don't know, nostalgic, but sad – thinking about the time he sucked me off in the disabled toilet at Sainsbury's, about the time we made out in his car for hours, and I remember it was raining and really foggy outside, and the tempo of the rain hitting the roof matched the tempo of his fingers kind of, tapping softly on my leg, his lips on mine and everything felt, you know, like that. Anyway.

 

I saw one Star Wars film when I was little, I wasn't that impressed, to be honest, I don't share his enthusiasm and his excitement kind of gets me going, makes me wanna shit all over it. Maybe it's endearing, I'm trying to convince myself, staring at the Star Wars drinks topper uneasily. The ugly thing inside me stirs, though, so I take a sip of the Diet Coke and it sort of goes away. Chill out. 

 

“Do you want some popcorn?” he asks, tilting the box toward me, eyebrow half raised, and he looks so sort of nerdy handsome in the 3D glasses – thick rimmed black frames contrasting with his pale, clear skin that it sort of takes my breath away. I swallow all the spit in my mouth, half smile, say: “no thanks,” and then, fuck it: “actually, yeah,” and take a handful, and he smiles at me, and I feel weird, and then the lights go out. Pull out my phone to put it on silent: it's 21:07 now. He does the same. 

 

-

 

21:47 and I'm seriously bored, my ice cream has melted, I can't feel my legs and in the dark, the glow from the movie illuminates everything, and things slowly, start to appear differently. Suddenly, I feel exhilarated. No pressure, no glances to over analyse, I'm starting to feel like I'm going crazy. I can't stop staring at his hands. All I can focus on is him, and I feel awful, kind of like I'm fucking myself over. All the terrible things he did, we did, might still do. Staring at the side of his face shifting under the changing light, and I'm seeing things I haven't noticed before, or things I used to and forgot, like: the way his hair curls a little bit behind his ears, the freckles on his forehead that kind of fade away during the winter, only to return, blazing, come summer. Thinking about touching the side of his face, a small scar: barely visible above his left eye and I'm thinking about how he might have got it, wanting to touch it, touch everything, still staring at his hands, feeling horny, but mad about it. A mole. The way his face goes when he smiles. 

 

Imagining things, you know, scenarios, stupid stuff, buying a lamp together at Ikea, what, sharing a pizza at his apartment with Arnold, Robert buying a BB-8 toy and gushing over it like a proud dad over a new born baby, and my stomach literally hurts, I don't know why, and I'm thinking about biting my own fingers off, sucking his neck, about the vaporiser in my pocket, my sort of hard dick in my jeans. It's too much, gimme a sec. “You know, this Coke is going right through me,” I say, standing up, shaking slightly, “be back in a sec,” and he nods and the way his face goes when he smiles. Feel likeI'm imp[loding.

 

-

 

Later (23:29), when we're walking back toward the car – he's holding the empty Star Wars cup (“it's a collector's item”) and I'm pulling my phone out of my pocket to absently look at it because I don't know what to say, and he looks over at me, smiling, and says: “phone home,” in a sort of alien voice, and at first I grimace, and then I'm smiling, like actually smiling, and I say: “that's E.T. you twat,” and I can't help it, I'm pretty much overcome laughing, I don't know why, I'm actually wheezing and he just looks, I don't know, fucking ecstatic? and you know, I actually feel okay about that, and he says, laughing as well: “get in the car,” in the voice he knows makes me fucking lose it -

 

we were laying down on his bed that week we spent together at the farm and we were making out, drinking Sunny Delight because we were both really hungover and it was Sunday afternoon and just, you know, everything was funny, and the TV was on, Four in a Bed or something boring, you know, and there was that advert with the M&M's and the guy's like: get in the bowl, and the red M&M's like: you get in the bowl, and I just lost it, I couldn't stop laughing, neither of us could, and he turned to me and the light in the room was sort of golden, I dunno, and he just looked, you know, and smiling, he said, in the voice: “get in the bowl,” and I felt like I honestly couldn't breathe, I was laughing so hard, and I said, breathless: “you get in the bowl” and 

 

“You get in the car.”


End file.
